


Waiting for Dusk

by WatchMyFavesSuffer



Category: Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bisexual Natalie, Disordered Eating, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gabe being a little shit, Gen, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Boyfriend Henry, not as depressing as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchMyFavesSuffer/pseuds/WatchMyFavesSuffer
Summary: “Any family history of mental illness?” The woman asks, fingers poised on her keyboard.Natalie lets out a sound that is almost a laugh. “Um, you could say that.”Hospital fic! Natalie, fresh out of college, jobless and just as troubled as her mother, checks herself into an inpatient program to deal with the trauma of her upbringing, her own disordered brain chemistry, and her strained relationship with her fiancé, Henry.Title is from l'Hôpital by Ahmed Bouanani (which will be referenced endlessly throughout the fic just fyi)
Relationships: Natalie Goodman/Henry, Natalie Goodman/Original Female Characters
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Waiting for Dusk

“Any family history of mental illness?” The woman asks, fingers poised on her keyboard.

Natalie lets out a sound that is almost a laugh. “Um, you could say that. My mother was a bipolar depressive, _her_ mother was a bipolar depressive, so on and so forth, probably all the way back to some manic cavewoman who got kicked out of the Neanderthal PTA.”

No laugh. _Tough crowd._

“And your father’s side?”

Natalie crosses her arms and chews the inside of her lip. “I’m not sure. Well, he’s never been diagnosed with anything.”

“Alright. Any siblings?”

“I had a brother. He died before I was born. Although, knowing our family, he probably would have grown up to be crazy, too. Why should he be spared, right?”

_Being a little harsh on the dead baby, no?_

“What’s your current living situation and employment status?”

“I live with my fiancé. He’s employed. I’m, uh, looking for a job right now.”

“Says here you’ve had one previous inpatient admission?”

“Yeah, it was— well, I was 19, so almost 4 years ago now. It wasn’t even a big deal, really. It was 72 hours, I didn’t miss any school, my dad didn’t even know.”

“And you’re not on any medication?”

“No, and I don’t want to be.”

_Because Mother Dearest was more pharmaceutical than person._

“Well. That’s all the information we need right now. I’ll have an orderly show you to your room.”

The orderly goes through her luggage searching for contraband: no sharp objects, cords thick enough to hang yourself with, or drugs (and, for reasons she’d never quite grasped, no large containers, erasers, or seasoning packets.) “Someone will come get you for dinner, then you’ll meet with your psychiatrist.” 

Then, she’s left alone in a room with two low beds, two ugly wooden chests of drawers, fluorescent lights, and a cheap, half-length mirror.

_Swanky digs._

She sits down on the bed and grabs a book out of her suitcase.

Well, not that much worse than the dorms at Michigan.

She sits and reads, for a while. Another patient appears in the doorway. She’s probably 18 or 19, just barely old enough to be in the adult program. Her hair is tied up in a silk scarf and she’s dressed in the standard psych ward uniform of pajama pants, tank top, grippy socks and slides.

“Hey, Nina told me to tell you— oh shit, are you reading _l’Hôpital_? I love that book!”

Natalie smiles. “Yeah, the irony factor is through the roof, huh?”

“Yeah, a book all about the tyranny and absurdity of being locked away in a hospital? Surprised they didn’t consider it contraband.”

Natalie leans in as though sharing a mind-blowing secret. “That’s why I got it in the original French. If you have a book or a letter that you don’t want them looking through, get it another language.”

(A little trick courtesy of Diana, who had some colorful stories about exchanging risqué letters with Dan in German and telling the staff they were from her cousin who didn’t speak English.)

“That’s brilliant. Someone’s been here before, I guess.”

“Let’s just say I’ve got lots of experience.”

“Well, the counselors told me to tell you that dinner’s in five.”

“Well, I’m not really hungry.” She takes a sudden interest in peeling the price sticker off her paperback.

“First meal on the unit sucks. It’s like high school: no one wants to be the girl who has to eat in the bathroom because she doesn’t have any friends yet. I get it. See you around?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

“I’m Amina, by the way.”

“Natalie.”

_Was that nerd-slash-crazy-person flirting?_

* * *

After everyone comes back from dinner, Natalie meets her psychiatrist.

“Let’s talk a bit about your history.”

“Diagnosed bipolar at 18, no medication, history of suicidal ideation but no attempts. Secondary generalized anxiety, disordered eating, past substance abuse.” She rattles off the list quickly, efficiently, no eye contact.

“And can you tell me a little bit about why you’re here?”

“Apparently, I locked myself in the bathroom and threatened to slit my wrists.”

“‘Apparently’?”

“I don’t remember much. I was having a mixed episode, which for me tends to include dissociation and fugue states. Anyway, my fiancé talked me down, but we waited and the depressive state wasn’t getting any better, so we decided I should probably go away for a while.”

“You speak about your illness very clearly.” The doctor observes.

_For a crazy person, she means._

“I’ve done my research.”

“Because of your mother’s history? It says on your intake forms she’s bipolar as well.”

“Yeah, there was a time when I read everything I could get my hands on. But at some point it just became like, not my monkey, not my circus, you know? I kept my head down and did my work and prayed to get out of there.”

“It seems like your family is a major stressor in your life. Do you think your parents would be willing to come in for a family session?”

“Oh, um. My father might, but we don’t...exactly _know_ where my mother is? She left my dad when I was a junior in high school.”

“Wow. That must have been quite difficult for you.”

Natalie shrugs and drags the toe of her Converse across the ugly carpeting.

_That was probably the least difficult thing she put us through that year._

“I don’t blame her for leaving. But I did have to sort of put my life on hold to take care of my father.I was graduating early, and I got into Yale like a month after my mom took off, but I had to go to my safety school instead because it was closer to home. But it’s fine, I guess, because I probably would have broken up with Henry if I’d gone to Yale.”

“Henry is your fiancé?”

Natalie nods, smiling a little despite the bleakness of her surroundings. “He’s amazing. We’re mostly getting married so I can be on his insurance. Or at least that’s what he said to get me to say yes to the proposal. But he’s been here with me through all of the craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

_Spare her the rom-com shit, Nat._

“Well, you’ll be allowed to call him after your first 72 hours. We find it helps ease the transition into your stay here if you go a little bit without outside contact.”

“Got it. And when can he visit?”

“We can discuss visiting once we feel you’ve made significant progress. Well, I have to let you go so you can do evening process group. Before you leave, can you fill out this safety contract?”

She hands Natalie a clipboard.

> **Rate the following emotions on a scale from 1-5:**
> 
> **Anger**
> 
> **Depression**
> 
> **Anxiety**
> 
> **Are you experiencing suicidal thoughts?**
> 
> **YES NO**
> 
> **If YES, can you commit to being safe today?**
> 
> **YES NO**
> 
> **Patient Signature:**
> 
> **Are you experiencing urges to hurt yourself?**
> 
> **YES NO**
> 
> **Are you experiencing urges to discharge yourself from treatment?**
> 
> **YES NO**

“What does that mean, ‘commit to being safe today’?”

“By signing there, you’ve contracted not to harm yourself for the next 24 hours.”

_That’s brilliant. What are they gonna do, sue a dead body for breach of contract?_

“Oh—okay.” Natalie checks off the boxes without looking (3, 3, 3, NO, skip, NO, NO) smiles, and leaves.

“Process group” is apparently code for unstructured bitching about whatever happened that day, which is a concept Natalie can get behind. After process in downtime.

“New girl!” A voice calls. It’s a twenty-something white guy with dark circles who gives off serious stoner vibes.

Amina slaps him on the arm. “Her name’s Natalie, fool.” She waves her over.

“We’re playing this game of Monopoly that’s missing like half the houses and most of the money. We never have enough time to finish a game and we essentially make up the rules as we go—wanna join in?”

 _Wow, this place is really happening on a Friday night. Most twenty-somethings are at clubs right now, sure, but fuck that._ This _is where it’s really at—_

“I’m pretty tired, actually. I’m gonna lay down and read more _l_ ’ _Hôpital,_ I think.”

Amina smiles. She’s pretty, and maybe the kind of person Natalie would be friends with— if she, y’know, _had_ friends.”Far be it from me to get between you and Bouanani.”

Natalie gets back to the room, covers her face with her hands, and sighs. They’re not allowed to close the doors, so this is the closest she’ll get to privacy in here.

 _Flirting with that crazy girl is not a good look, Nat. Even_ Mom _didn’t cheat._

Natalie’s head snaps up. “My God, Gabe, would you _shut up_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me that plot twist worked :'))))


End file.
